


puddlejumping (close your eyes and leap)

by hito



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito/pseuds/hito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leap Year fic! Natural law doesn't apply. (But Derek and Stiles end up in bed under whatever law they need to obey to get there.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	puddlejumping (close your eyes and leap)

They’re in bed when Derek says, “Natural law doesn’t apply.” 

It takes Stiles a minute to wake himself up enough to reply, and even then he only says, “Hmm?” 

“Tomorrow.” Derek obviously realises Stiles is grasping to understand anything more complex than a grunt, because he continues, “Natural law is turned on its head. Witches are abroad, night-flowers bloom during the day, and none of the conventions apply—“ 

“Which is why women can propose, because normal laws don’t apply on a day that people thought didn’t really exist,” Stiles says, hauling himself up onto an elbow and propping himself on Derek’s chest. “Though I’ve always wondered what happened afterwards—could men claim the betrothal wasn’t real either, once they were onto the first? Did you only get a husband for one day every four years?” 

“No—“ Derek says. “That isn’t—“ 

“And witches aren’t real, right?” Stiles asks. “You said they weren’t.” His eyes widen in the dark. “Wait, are witches real tomorrow? Are there _witches_ tomorrow?” 

“—No,” Derek says, and Stiles deflates. “Fictional creatures don’t suddenly come into existence.” 

“Boring.” 

“No,” Derek says. “It’s the full moon.” 

“I know,” Stiles says. And, “Oh. And natural laws don’t apply?” 

“Yeah,” Derek says. 

“So—“ 

“I don’t know. I don’t know the last time this happened.” Stiles starts trying to do the math in his head. “There are stories, but I don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

“Okay,” Stiles says, and settles down on Derek. “Maybe nothing.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says. “No. Werewolves won’t turn. Everything says that’s true.” 

“Oh!” Stiles says, pleased. “Want to do something? We should go to dinner at that place with the roof.” 

“Maybe,” Derek says, and Stiles knows he’s uneasy, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. “Just—maybe, yeah.” 

“Worry about it tomorrow,” Stiles says, sleepy again because if he let the possibility of disaster keep him awake he’d never sleep around Derek at all, and that would be unfortunate given they live together. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, but Stiles is asleep before he can make sure Derek follows through. 

*

Stiles normally loves it when the full moon is on a weekend, because Derek is always kind of worked up day of, and Stiles doesn’t have to make any effort to get Derek to stay in bed and fuck all day, but today Derek is restless and jittery enough that Stiles almost wishes he had a lecture as a reason to get out of the apartment. 

“You didn’t tell Scott about this, right?” he double-checks. 

“I think he’ll figure it out when the moon rises and he’s still human,” Derek says. 

“Yeah, but until then,” Stiles insists. 

“No,” Derek says tightly, and wow, this day is not turning out how Stiles had hoped at all. 

“So, do you want to have sex?” Stiles asks, stretching lazily. 

“No.” 

At all. 

*

“Maybe I should lock myself up,” Derek says, staring out the window at the twilight. 

“Why would you do that today?” Stiles asks. “You never do that.” 

“I know.” 

“It will be fine,” Stiles says. “What do you think, you’re suddenly going to kill me because you don’t normally kill me, or something? Come on.” 

“No,” Derek says, twitching. “I don’t know.” He paces the room, ends up back at the window. “Something. There’s a balance. Something else has to happen to even things out. They’re not just going to lift a curse without repercussions.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says, worried for the first time. “But you’ll be okay. There’s nothing in the lore about any aftereffects, or like, exploding because your body knows it’s supposed to change, right?” 

“No,” Derek says, “there’s nothing.” 

But he doesn’t turn away from the window. 

*

Stiles should have been expecting it when he drops to the floor and his body shudders and jars, not his body anymore. Maybe Derek was, and he opens his mouth to ask but he’s screaming instead, and Derek’s hands are on his back but it doesn’t help and his body twists and breaks, remade into agony and he can’t hear it when his scream turns into a howl. 

*

Derek is still there when it’s over, when Stiles is twitching under his touch, not yet settled back into his skin. 

“Is it always like that,” is the first thing he asks. 

“No,” Derek says, petting his hip, but Stiles knows he’s lying, doesn’t even know why he bothered to ask. 

“Scott never said.” 

Derek shifts, but he doesn’t look away. “It isn’t usually that clear. After it’s done.” 

“Oh.” 

It’s clear, no distortion in his mind, no distortion apart from skin and ligament and sinew and flesh and bone, all changed beyond what Stiles thought he could take. But he’d taken it. 

He’d had to. 

“Will Scott—“ 

“I don’t think the same thing would have happened. He doesn’t have a mate. I don’t know what would have happened instead though.” 

“We should find out,” Stiles says, but he’s still quivering, and somebody would’ve called if anything terrible had happened. “Later.” 

“I didn’t know,” Derek says. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and puts his hand over Derek’s. “I figured.” 

Later, when they’d normally be drifting to sleep, he says, “It balanced out the calendar, and it was supposed to balance out the injustice that women couldn’t legally propose on all the other days, but I don’t think it would have. I don’t think it’s fair.” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, his arm tightening. 

“No, I mean—“ Stiles grins, after a fashion. “I knew what I was getting into.” 

“You didn’t sign up for that.” 

“Neither did you,” Stiles says. “It isn’t fair that you have to do that all the time.” 

Derek shrugs, but then he’s on Stiles, the way he always is after he comes back, but Stiles is the one who’s overcome this time, shoving back against Derek, pressing him down and biting at him, tugging at his skin, nipping with blunt teeth until he stills. 

Derek encircles Stiles, legs around his waist, arms wrapped around his back, and his hands are shaking now in the way they weren’t earlier, when Stiles wasn’t human and Derek was, when they should have been. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles says quietly, when Derek reaches down with him to push their fingers inside, to pull Stiles’ cock inside him too soon. “I’m okay.” 

Derek is flushed pink and straining already, trembling under him, and it’s so different to the way he’d been earlier, when Stiles had been new, hadn’t known who he was or what he was capable of. It’s better like this, though Derek had seemed to like it well enough, had said it was okay even though Stiles doesn’t think he was capable of listening then, the way Derek always listens when he’s changed, every single time he’s changed and Stiles says no, and Stiles knows he means that now, in a way he hadn’t before; it doesn’t matter that Derek let Stiles fuck him like that, that Stiles managed not to hurt him (and he slows, mid-thrust, remembering, remembering that Derek was okay, that they checked, they’re okay), it doesn’t matter: Stiles knows he doesn’t ever want to do that. He’s always going to say no. 

Derek is gasping, head thrown back, and it’s memory more than anything else that makes Stiles set his teeth into Derek’s throat, and then Derek is jerking, tightening around Stiles and coming all over them both. 

Stiles thinks his teeth might have done some damage there, if Derek had been human or Stiles hadn’t, if Derek had let him have anywhere near that much control or closeness earlier, and the reminder of his newly recovered weakness lets him lose himself, lets him claw at Derek’s hips and shove his legs apart and ignore their shake, and fuck deep and hard until he comes. 

He’s the one left struggling for breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again. 

“It really wasn’t that bad,” Stiles says, which is only half a lie—it was bad, but he has had worse. 

“It shouldn’t have happened. You weren’t ever meant to know what that was like.” And Derek’s talking like he actually thinks this might be the worst thing that happens to Stiles for a while, which is sweet, if a little wilfully oblivious. 

“I’m glad I do know,” Stiles says thoughtfully, and he’s less surprised than he thinks he should be to mean that—it’s good to have had a taste of it while he can still turn back, knowing he doesn’t ever want to go further down that road. He won’t ever question that again. 

Derek doesn’t wince when Stiles pulls out, flopping down on top of him. He reaches out to touch Derek’s chest, and it’s a relief to stroke it and not feel his fingers curl into claws. 

Derek still doesn’t look happy, so Stiles presses his mouth against Derek’s cheek, laughs against his skin when he frowns. “It’s really okay,” he says, smiling helplessly. “This wasn’t exactly a shock, you know. Nothing’s going to scare me off at this point.” His smile stretches wide, and he’s wild with meaning it, with meaning all of it. 

Derek’s body relaxes minutely; Stiles only notices because he’s sprawled all over it. He laughs into Derek’s shoulder, scraping his teeth playfully over Derek’s collarbone. 

The phone starts to ring, and Derek rises to answer it.


End file.
